


友情買春

by navigat1on



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Pre-EVERYTHING, Pre-Serum Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, steve is very lonely and bucky is very hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navigat1on/pseuds/navigat1on
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In America, you can rent out a person to just hang and be friends with. Steve's lonely so he orders a Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	友情買春

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for everything in this fic. also, I know nothing about Coney Island and I've only been to New York once, so nothing about the locations referenced is accurate. the plot comes from a podcast, where it was mentioned that in Japan, you can literally rent a guy to be your friend. I'm not sure if this is true; this work is entirely fictional.
> 
> Special Guest Star: Progresso soup.
> 
> (also, the title means 'Friendly Prostitution.' enjoy.)

Steve was lonely.

It wasn’t so much that he wanted love. He didn’t need that anymore after Peggy. But it was the fact that he didn’t have any friends. Yes, he chats with the same barista at Starbucks every morning, and he does make small talk with the elderly lady in his apartment building, but that’s not friendship. The only person who he can hardly call his acquaintance is Sam, who works in the cubicle across from Steve’s. They drink coffee together and pick up each other’s slack when one of them (usually Sam) has had a late night. After his usual conversation with him (“Good morning.” “Morning.” “How’s it going?” “It’s going.” “Can you take the 9-9 shift on Wednesday? My kid has soccer practice.” “Sure.”), he drives home in his ‘98 Citroen and listens to NPR. Home for him is his humble studio apartment in the city, which he can afford so long as he doesn’t get a pasty with his coffee and buys the store brand detergent. He mindlessly watches television for an hour, eating his dinner of microwaved Pregresso soup before sauntering off to bed. Steve falls into an uneasy sleep, finally tapering off his daydreams of becoming something more. His alarm wakes him up at 6 o’clock sharp, and the day starts again. 

His Friday was going something like this until the minute he got home. His apartment was as he left it, but he still felt a sort of queasy uneasiness. Steve sits down in the dusty old recliner and shuts his eyes for a moment. God, he hated his life. A shitty job, shitty apartment, shitty boss, shitty landlord, and now what could possibly be the beginning of another shitty uprising of The Stomach Flu™.

Why he didn’t just stay with his parents, Steve didn’t understand. Their basement had been nice, and his florist job was nice, but they were both unfulfilling. His stupid dream of becoming an NYPD officer brought him here, and he can’t even do that because of his goddamn asthma and scoliosis and heart problems and all that bullshit. He can’t even make friends, for Christ’s sakes. Steve is lonely. And he’s going to put a stop to it.

He remembers seeing an ad on the back of Time Magazine about renting someone. Not a prostitute, but someone who would hang out with you and pretend they’re your friend. It’s an effort to decrease suicide rates, probably funded by the city. Steve reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the magazine, flipping it over and seeing a hotline number. He fumbles to get his cellphone out of his pocket and quickly types it out, pressing call. This was either going to be the dumbest or best idea he’s ever had. The latter was more likely.

“Hello, you’ve reached the New York Friend Hotline, my name is Sharon, how may I help you?” A voice said. She sounded pleasant and definitely more patient than other New Yorkers. Steve relaxed.

“Yes, I’d like to order a...person?”

“Of course, sir. Any preferences? Age, gender, interests?”

“No, anyone is fine,” Steve replied. Someone is better than no one.

“Alright, we will send someone out immediately. What is your name and address?”

Steve answers her questions and gives her his credit card number. She tells him that one of their employees will arrive in half an hour. He hangs up. That wasn’t so bad. He tries to imagine who will come, but can’t. Maybe he should’ve specified what he wanted. He prays for someone at least his age. He shuts off his thoughts by turning on the television.

Steve is pulled out of his thoughts when the doorbell rings. He quickly stands up, checks to make sure he doesn’t look like a complete loser in the mirror, and opens the door to a sight he didn’t expect.

“H-hi.” Steve stutters. Fuck, he didn’t prepare for this. The man was a bit taller than him with short, brown hair. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of brown, looking down at him. The man looks to be around his age, wearing a simple black shirt and jeans. He’s certainly attractive. Steve has lucked out.

“Hello, I’m Bucky, and I’m with the NYFH, and I’m your best friend for the day,” The man laughs and smiles at Steve. 

“I’m Steve,” he says. They shake hands.

“Nice to meet you.”

Steve invites Bucky inside and shuts the door. He turns back around and faces him.

“So, what do you want to do? Let me warn you though, anything dirty costs extra!” He laughs. Steve blushes. He wasn’t even thinking about that. But he does remember that he has a bit to waste in his bank account.

“Uh, nothing like that,” Steve laughs a little, “But it’d be nice to just talk to you if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Steve sits back down on his recliner and gestures for Bucky to sit on the sofa next to him. He obeys, and slides down onto the cushions. Steve waits until he’s comfortable before talking.

“So, why do you work for the hotline?”

“My friend Natasha answers calls there, and said she could get me a job. So, I said ‘hell yeah’ and took it. It’s pretty easy money. So far this week, I’ve been bff’s with five old ladies and two other men. You’re the first person I’ve worked for that doesn’t have wrinkles.” They laugh. “What do you do?”

“I work for this banking company in the city. Spend all day in front of a computer. It’s pretty depressing.”

“I can see why you called.”

“Yeah,” Steve blushes a little, “I don’t really have any friends...so this is pretty nice. I mean, like, I used to have friends, but I just moved and I’m pretty bad and meeting new people,” He hopes he doesn’t sound like too much of an idiot.

“Yeah, that’s what most people say. That’s why I really like the hotline. Let’s people connect, y’know?”

They talk for a while longer about their interests, family, jobs, and life, laughing every now and again. Being with Bucky is like reuniting with an old high school friend. He’s funny, charming, and surprisingly intelligent. Steve is drawn to him even more. 

Once the conversation stalls, Bucky suggests they go to Coney Island. Luckily, it’s fairly close by. Steve drives (Bucky says he hates NPR and takes control of the radio, quickly tuning it to a rock station and singing along with the songs) and they arrive shortly after leaving. Steve and Bucky get out of the car and walk down the sidewalk to the boardwalk, stopping in a few stores to try on hats and the most idiotic shirts (the ones with sayings like “My friend went to Coney Island and only got me this shirt!”) they could find. They take pictures together and try to make the funniest faces at each other without laughing (Steve loses it after three rounds, nearly choking on his laughter.)

They finally turn into an ocean-themed restaurant and get dinner. Steve shares his calamari with Bucky and they drink beers, talking about their different childhoods. While Steve grew up on a farm in Massachusetts, Bucky has lived in Brooklyn all his life. They talk about everything from birthplaces to the worst jokes they’ve ever heard, and Steve realizes he really likes Bucky. In the way that he could spend everyday with him, laughing to his stories from high school and sympathizing with the loss of his mother. This isn’t like his acquaintanceship with Sam at all, this is real, grade A friendship. Steve can forget about his asthma and depression when he’s with him, and he feels great.

They leave the restaurant and drive back to Steve’s apartment in comfortable silence, only broken when Bucky turns the radio on again. When they walk back up the stairs, Steve realizes that the day is over, and Bucky will be leaving soon. His heart drops to the ground.

They walk inside and Steve sets his car keys on the table. Then, he faces Bucky.

“I had a really great time.”

“Yeah, me too. Maybe you should just call me over everyday and save me from another conversation with an old lady,” Bucky says. They laugh again.

Steve looks into his eyes and stops feeling nervous. “I wish I could afford that, but I only have a bit of money left, and I have an idea of what I want to do with it,” he says, stepping closer to Bucky until they’re inches apart. He sees the man’s eyes turn dark.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“If what you offered a few hours ago still applies, it has to do with you and my bed. Do you wanna guess?” Steve gets onto his tiptoes to level his head with Bucky’s.

“No, you can just show me.”


End file.
